


A Lot of Fuss About Not Much, Really

by Nny



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2011-07-16
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Well you certainly have a gift for the language. All those 'thee's and 'thou's and 'prithee's, you know. Very theatrical."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lot of Fuss About Not Much, Really

The tavern was dark and crowded, hugely so. It did always rather tend to be after an execution, something that put Crowley in high spirits and made Aziraphale purse his lips, rather. There seemed to be standing room only, and Aziraphale was all set to find somewhere else to spend the remainder of the evening, but Crowley snaked his way through the crowd and managed to find a table in a dim corner that was occupied by only one young man, dark-haired and weak-chinned, who seemed more than willing to have them join him. There were, miraculously, two unoccupied stools nearby, so they took him up on his offer and Crowley wandered off to obtain a jug of sack for the three of them. Aziraphale examined his new companion.

He was somewhat shabby and his age was a little hard to pinpoint – he could have been a rather fresh-faced forty, or undergoing a terribly worrying twenties. The angel was rather inclined to think the latter, judging by the way he was fiddling quite so distractingly with a quill. Aziraphale leaned forward, somewhat concerned.

"My dear fellow, are you quite alright?"

Dark eyes met his, looking somewhat startled and pathetically grateful to have been asked.

"It's my play," the young man said – no question now that he was a young man, so wavering and uncertain was his voice. "I'm trying to get it produced but no one will agree to perform it. They say I've no cause to go asking for such large female parts, they say it's better by far to have large male parts."

Crowley, returning with the sack, nearly upset it all over the table for laughing and Aziraphale sent him a most disapproving look, answering the young man absently.

"Well I can't say I blame them. Those corsets are terribly uncomfortable, you know."

"Oh!" His pale face quite lit up. "Are you on the stage?"

"Er." He kicked Crowley under the table, shutting the demon up mid-cackle, and looked rather embarrassed. "Er. Certainly. I've been known to indulge in the dramatic arts, on occasion."

"Then… well, I know it's a terrible imposition, but would you - read my new play?"

"Goodness." Aziraphale looked shifty. "I'm… not terribly sure I'm qualified to judge, you know."

"But you seem a literary man…"

"'course he is," Crowley put in, his eyes sparkling rather. "He owns a bookshop, don't you?"

"Yes, _thank_ you, Crowley." Aziraphale sighed, and held out a hand. "Very well, then, I shall take a quick peek." He eyed the enormous stack of paper unhappily, and then eyed the demon with some dislike before sighing and setting to.

Crowley poured them all a glass of the wine.

"So," he said, then hesitated.

"Er, William."

"Right, right, of course. Good strong name. So, William, I think I have an idea for you."

The young man looked at him attentively.

"You do?"

"About the males and females and their respective parts."

"And I'm sure he doesn't need to hear about _that_ , Crowley," Aziraphale put in. "You caused quite enough trouble with that sort of thing the first time."

"Not my fault I'm irresistible, I'm sure." He scowled at the angel, then beamed genially at William and put a friendly arm about his shoulders. "The way to get around it, Will, is really pretty simple. You happen to know what a transvestite is…?"

-

They were well into their third jug by the time Aziraphale had finished reading, and Crowley was teaching William a particularly lewd variant on a popular song of the time, complete with gestures. William trailed off when he noticed the angel was done, and cleared his throat nervously.

"What did you think?"

"Well you certainly have a gift for the language. All those 'thee's and 'thou's and 'prithee's, you know. Very theatrical."

William looked rather disheartened by his tone.

"There's a but in your voice."

Aziraphale looked faintly apologetic.

"It's a little bloodthirsty. And I don't know that you're poetic enough about it to justify it in the name of art, my dear."

"What d'you mean?" asked Crowley, interested.

"Well… this bit, for instance.

 _'Both her sweet hands, her tongue, and that more dear  
than hands or tongue, her spotless chastity,  
inhuman traitors, you constrain'd and forc'd.  
What would you say, if I should let you speak?  
Villains, for shame you could not beg for grace.  
Do you feel lucky, prithee, punks?  
Die, die you bas-' _

Well. I'm sure I needn't continue."

The young playwright looked rather woebegone.

"It's too much?"

"Well it must go one way or the other, you know. It's either too much or not quite enough." The angel sighed, and his mouth twisted in very slight distaste. "Loath as I am to say it, I believe you should consult Crowley on this matter. His gift is in devising impossible slanders. None but libertines delight in him, and the commendation is not in his wit but in his villainy."

William grinned.

"I see, sir, that Crowley is not in your books?"

"Goodness, no. If he were, I should burn my bookshop."

William laughed and groped for his quill, jotting something down on a scrap of parchment, as Crowley turned to Aziraphale and smiled ever so sweetly.

"Compared to your so delightful presence, Aziraphale, hell is quiet as a sanctuary, and people sin on purpose to go there." His mouth curled into a slow grin. "So, by all means, do continue."

The angel scowled and made no reply, instead heading off to replenish their supply of sack, and William looked at Crowley hopefully. The demon pulled the stack of paper towards himself and looked at the scene, considering.

"You know," he said, a small grin making itself known at the corners of his mouth, "you could always have him eat them…"

-

"Do you know, Crowley, I believe you have an admirer." Aziraphale set the jug back onto the table, a trifle unsteadily, and nodded back to where a barmaid was staring in their direction. "She seemed quite disgruntled when I was the one who was ordering, you know."

It took William a couple of tries, but eventually he managed to nudge Crowley in the side.

"You should talk to her, she's a comely enough lass."

The demon sat back in his chair, cradling his cup in one hand, and William tilted his head to one side, a thoughtful expression on his face, when he saw the look Crowley shot at the oblivious Aziraphale.

"No challenge." He looked back at William, and the young man thought it best to act as if he hadn't seen. "I'm entirely too wise to woo peaceably."

The playwright cleared his throat, and changed the subject back to the tragedy he was working on, and made sure that neither of them was looking before scribbling a note on a corner of one of the pages.

-

The night air was blessedly cool after the warmth of the tavern, and Crowley leaned back against the wall, rubbing his eyes and hissing faintly.

"You're alright, my dear?"

"It's a pain and a bloody half, keeping a glamour on for that long." He squinted at Aziraphale, eyes yellow again. "I think you're going to have to revive me with tea."

"Oh, of course you're welcome, that goes without saying." Aziraphale turned and started to head back towards his shop, and quite missed the expression on Crowley's face. "That young man has a lot of promise, I think."

"Maybe you'll be selling his plays, some day."

"Oh, I don't know that I'd go that far. It was nice of him to say we were an inspiration, though, don't you think?"

Crowley grinned.

"I should take up musing full time. Maybe he'll write a play about us."

Aziraphale laughed, and threaded his arm through Crowley's.

"Maybe he will, at that."


End file.
